Ice Cold Women
by Zora U Prolece
Summary: Belarus thought that they had noting in common. But where is the border between curiosity and obsession? OC Serbia. Serbia/Belarus
1. Chapter 1

WARNING: Belarus/Serbia

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia. Only my OC Serbia who in this story was portrayed as a cold and maybe sadistic person. Also, I took liberty in shaping Serbia's past before she came to the Balkans. The reason for this is that there are unclear evidence of "White Serbia's" existence before sixth and seventh century, and the trace of the name "Serboi" around Carpathian Mountains. There is also a theory that "Siberia" has some connection to the current nation's name. There are many 'truths' about the true origin of the Serbs, so I took liberty to create my own version of it all.

Belarus first noticed her when she tried to get her brother to marry her… Again. Like always, she sneaked into the house and prepared her knife for another door breaking. What stopped her in front of her brother's study was a conversation led within.

"I forbid you to enter NATO!" Russia's voice was filled with restrained anger.

"Oh, but you see, _draga Rusijo_." said a female voice. It was sweet like honey and it seemed cheerful, but it cut like a knife with cruel honesty. "When you back out from an agreement, you can't expect me to keep my end of the bargain, _zar ne_? Also, if you continue on ignoring my demands, I will just have to take EU's side in… Well, everything." Belarus could hear her brother growl. "After all, I'm the one who has been your jackpot of your influence in Europe for decades."

A sigh could be heard. "Name your price."

"You already know."

"Fine, but we will do it here, and don't remove all of your clothes: I want you out as soon as we are done."

At first, for some reason, Belarus could not comprehend what the two were talking about. But, as the sighs and moans became louder, a dread settled in. She wanted to break in, to stop the woman from touching her brother… But she could not. Instead, she turned and left.

Even though she did no want it, she agreed to follow her brother to the meeting of the Balkan countries. Apparently, England, France, America and Germany had huge problems in restraining the countries of the South Europe from fighting each other. Slovenia was arguing with Croatia, Bosnia had problems with the little autonomy region called the "Serbian Republic", Bulgaria and Romania were asking themselves what are they doing in this meeting and trying to ignore Albania and hyper active Kosovo who constantly shouted "Independent Kosova!", Macedonia was quietly glaring daggers at them beside the snoring Montenegro and Greece.

When they were seated at last, with a little help of Belarus, France slumped in his chair, England almost slammed his cup of tea on the table, Germany groaned, Russia still was smiling, and America was surprisingly cheerful. Many let out a heavy sigh and remained to sit in silence. Belarus was confused. She looked over to her brother, but he didn't look tense in the slightest, so the things were still going as planned.

"_Mon Dieu_…" France broke the silence. "We will wait for her the usual amount of time, _au_, as we already know that she will not come, we can start the meeting now?"

"_Niet_, I disagree." Russia cut in. "I'm sure she will come." However, as Belarus knew to read her brother, she saw a glint of doubt before he closed his eyes. Russia's eyes were his weakness. He could disguise what his felt with his whole body, but one look at his eyes, and one could know everything.

"Haha! Call her off Ruskie!" nearly shouted America. "We all know that Serbia works for you to influence the Balkans!"

As the argument started with Macedonia, Montenegro and France starting to defend the absent country, Belarus narrowed her eyes. Now she knew the name of the woman who was that day in a study with her brother.

"She's a monster, just like her brother!"

"_Au contraire_, she is very hospitable and beautiful! Not to mention that she has such a potential!"

"Be quiet you wine bastard, you say that only because you didn't live with her like we did."

"Have you even tried to understand her? _P*cko enda_…"

"What is there to understand, she's a bad guy, I mean, girl."

"_Dobar dan svima_." All heads turned to the door. Belarus also looked, wanting to see just what kind of person such an ill rumoured country was. What she saw surprised her. A woman about her height came in. She was casually clothed, her brown hair was very short, save for a few bangs. She wore a warm smile, and her eyes were dark brown, almost black. "I see that the usual useless meeting was about to start." Her light voice had the same sweet undertone. Macedonia, Montenegro and Greece instantly gave her a bear hug. Others merely scowled, except for Bulgaria and Romania who were indifferent.

"What is _Kosmet_ doing in the meeting of _pravih drzava_?" She said, while pointing at the hyperactive boy.

"He's with me." Albania stood up. "And has my full support with around forty countries." For a moment, everyone stood still, waiting to se if Serbia would accept the challenge. She narrowed her eyes, then shrugged. "Sooner or later, you'll come back crawling, and I'll enjoy seeing the agony in your eyes." A few nations shuddered while she said that with a heart-melting smile on her face. "I don't need to do a thing. You will be your own downfall." She casually sat in her chair

Belarus was shocked to say at least. "Is Serbia serious?" she turned her head to her brother. "This time I guess she is." answered Russia. "She said that she won't abandon Serbian Kraina, Serbian Rebublic and Kosovo Serbs, but when she saw that they were more trouble than they are worth, she just abandoned them. Serbian Karina was killed, and Kosovo Serbs consist only two percent of entire population of Kosovo."

Belarus gaped. "She just let her people die?" Russia slowly nodded. "She did it without a second thought or remorse." Upon seeing his sister's rare show of disbelief, he continued. "You have to realize something though. This is not Serbia who fought heroically in the first and second World War, or the one who, with so much hope, created Yugoslavia instead of bigger Serbia. "Belarus couldn't but notice a sad look in his eyes. "Contrary to her merry mood and smiles, she is an emotional wreck."

"Why?"

"You and I should know best. In the nineties, she fought against the whole world. Despite the international protests, a little help from France, Greece and me, she was all alone. Everyone betrayed her by allowing the bombing of her people who barely knew what was gong on." Russia turned his head towards Serbia. "I've seen her before like this, after every war. It wakes something I've seen only in General Winter." He looked back at his sister. "Indifference towards death."

_But, aren't all nations?_ Belarus wanted to ask, but thought better of it. The meeting continued as usual.

It was a while since her last visit to the local archive. Expressionless woman knew that if she really wanted to find something about a certain country, searching on the internet was a biggest mistake. What an average human knew was quite different from the truth, mainly because the history was twisted in the hands of the winners.

Now she was looking at, compared to others, rather scarce amount of data. According to Byzantium data, Serbia used to pillage the empire's territories along with Avars and even tried to seize Constantinople. After settling on Balkan soil, she used all the turbulences through time to become a kingdom, and when Byzantium fell, she became an Empire. After the end of 'Serbian Despotovina', in the 14. century, every trace of her are lost. However, when Serbs had it enough with Turkish repression, they raised an uprising in 1804. Its victory was short lived, but the next one was more successful. She fought for recognition amongst the great forces of United Kingdom, Austro-Hungary, France, Russia and Ottoman Empire. The peace was short lived, as in the 1912. and 1913. Balkan Wars begun. There was no time to relax, for in the 1914., the First World War begun.

Belarus stopped reading there, as everything else she knew rather well. She was interested in knowing Serbia's origin, but all she found were speculations. There were faint traces of her existence as 'White Serbia', but nothing further. The theory that was widely accepted was that Serbia came from Carpathian Mountains, but there are traces of names leading all the way to Siberia.

She remembered that Serbia had, and probably still do, a very pan-Slavic treatment towards fellow 'brothers', and yet, looked so different. Belarus looked again at the first records of the 'Serboi'. They had characteristics of the Slavs, but they never had blonde hair, instead a light brown, while fr eyes there were no rules. Also, Serbian language changed too much for it to be easier to distinct in the past from the other Slavic languages.

Blearus sighed in irritation and leaned back in her chair. She was frustrated to say at least. All of the data before the First Serbian Uprising was mostly gathered by others and not by the nation in question. Everything about her was a speculation. All who went to Serbia were delighted at their Slav hospitality, rich culture and friendliness. Serbs prided themselves for being good soldiers and a people who liked freedom, and yet, they lost the war in the nineties and were under Ottomans for 500 hundred years.

Belarus groaned. She was more confused now than she was before.


	2. Chapter 2

WARNING: Belarus/Serbia

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia or Belarus' president. Only my OC Serbia who in this story was portrayed as a cold and maybe sadistic person. Also, I took liberty in shaping Serbia's past before she came to the Balkans. The reason for this is that there are unclear evidence of "White Serbia's" existence before sixth and seventh century, and the trace of the name "Serboi" around Carpathian Mountains. There is also a theory that "Siberia" has some connection to the current nation's name. There are many 'truths' about the true origin of the Serbs, so I took liberty to create my own version of it all.

The moment Belarus set foot outside, she took out her mobile phone and called her president. "Do you know what time it is?" an irritated voice said from the other side. "And for the hundredth time, no, I do not approve of your 'methods' in 'persuading' Russia to marry you."

"It is nothing of the sort." She replied. "I would like to visit Heracles Karpusi. I need to discuss something with him. It would do good if it happened soon." She heard a surprised coughing from the other side. She assumed that he was drinking coffee to stay awake. It was three in the morning after all.

"Greece? Why would you want to meet him?" now there was no trace of sleepiness in his voice. "He is almost bankrupt, has huge problems with Albania, and your economy also needs a lot of fixing. Why in the world would you want to see him!" he said in the harsh whisper, obviously trying not to wake someone.

"Calm down." said coolly Belarus. "I merely want to use him as a source of information. I have another country in focus, and no, it is not my brother." she heard a sigh of relief on the other side. "I believe you have met her when we discussed open trade programme with her. She's Serbia, Vukica Petrovitch."

She waited for a few moments while her president was contemplating. "The sole fact that you decided to extend your relations to the potential 'allies' has stirred my interest. "Very well, I will see what I can do. In the meantime, please leave Russia alone, he has enough problems as it is." With that he ended the conversation.

Serbia surprisingly woke up at eight thirty in the morning. What was not so surprising was the usual headache. It was almost a routine now, after dumping all the work to Voivodina and telling her boss to go to hell with all the politicians of the world, going to a random night club and drinking as much as she could before Voivodina figured out where she was, then, when they got home, drunkenly locking her door and letting her happy façade fall as she cried herself to sleep.

Stumbling on a dirty pile of clothes, she somehow managed to get to the mirror. What greeted her was a tired woman in middle twenties with brown hair that had a shade of red and two dark, empty pools for eyes. _Really…_she thought. _I have changed much during the centuries, and yet, I have not at all._ Deciding that trying to act as everything was okay in front of her little sister was convincing as France telling the world that he has no interest in sex anymore, she just got out of her room and proceeded down the hall.

On her way to the kitchen, she passed a room, or rather, what was left of it. Two walls were missing, and the remains of burned furniture suggested that it was untouched. Like every other day for ten years, she stopped at its entrance, not daring to step inside.

_She screamed as the burning pain spread on her neck. She knew that the bombs hit something vital, and she could almost hear around sixteen of her children screaming in pain. Warm liquid soaked her clothes and she opened her eyes. Serbia needed bandages, and she opened her mouth to call Voivodina, but then she remembered that the girl was not here. She went to Novi Sad a week earlier and then bombs fell on the bridge, effectively cutting of Serbia and Voivodina. She stood up without much problem, as the wound was not deep and the shock passed. She knew what was hit: the building of RTS, her national television._

_While she was getting to the kitchen, were was the first aid kit, she heard the talk of the police officers whose duty was to 'protect' her. Even though they made sure that their country had enough food in the fridge, she knew that her people were starving. The embargo hit Serbia hard, and without electricity, gas and food, her children started to nurture plants in their yards, to lit old fireplaces and candles._

"_Looks like NATO hit right on time. They're accurate."_

"_Tell me about it. Higher ups say that they won't inform the public about these attacks."_

"_Yeah, if people die, then NATO will appear as a bad guy. Stupid morons, meddling in our business."_

"_Also, we must not let people see the news from abroad."_

"_Why?"_

"_Apparently, they are informing their public every day what will they bomb."_

Serbia sighed and continued. She did not have time to remember clearly their screams as, in her rage, she tortured them, and then burned the whole room. On that day, the familiar pain formed in her chest, covering the world in grey. _Well_, she thought, _maybe I should have let them bleed to death._ _After all, fire is painful, but my goal was to make them think of the pain they inflicted by betraying their mother_.

With these kind of thoughts she entered the kitchen where Voivodina was preparing the usual breakfast._ I was so close… I would have won all four wars had not the world cut in… _She sipped slivovitz in her glass and started peeling a boiled egg. _And had not my own leaders betrayed me. Even though, it is amusing to say at least to see how my former 'brothers' are doing worse than me. _ A little salt on the egg, plus some white cheese with bread, and it would be enough for now. _They and the rest of the Europe will soon see just what kind of mistake they made when they backed up the extreme Muslims in Bosnia and Kosovo._ Amazingly swallowing everything in just three bites, Serbia finished her breakfast. _But, all in due time. Everything comes to the one who waits._

"Sis, where are you going?" asked Voivodina when Serbia stood up and took her jacket. "Please, tell me. You haven't even told me 'good morning'!" the girl pleaded.

"Somewhere." absentmindedly said Serbia. "You do not need to worry your little head about it." She ignored the younger's girl protests and hurried outside to avoid looking at sad expression the other surely had.

Greece took a sip of his now cold coffee. The woman in front of him did not even touch hers. The last hour and a half she questioned him about his orthodox sister. He was suspicious about it at first, but after some time he guessed it was foreigner's way of meeting. They probably thought it awkward of going straight to the person they were interested in and asking directly. When he thought about it for a moment, it made sense. Besides, what pale woman wanted to know was not something Serbia would willingly share, especially after western propaganda.

"Yes, her hair was like it is today but slightly redder. Her eyes… were different. They were a mixture of green and blue, you could even say they were turquoise." he said, with a mixture of pain and longing. "I remember when I first saw her eyes. Despite the fact that I inherited all the knowledge Ancient Greece and Byzantium had, psychically making me older than France, my body was young. I was in Byzantium's lap, playing with her hair, when I heard another's voice near the place where we sat." here he laughed a little.

"I had to strain my neck to look at her face. It was a rainy day, an early spring. The whole room was dark, I barely saw her, and then, like two candlelights, her eyes pierced the darkness. I could only stare at the winter and ice reflected in them." When he got out of his daze, he noticed that Belarus was intently listening to him.

"Did she pillage Byzantium's lands along with Avars?" she asked after a slight pause when she saw that Greece has finished. He just shook his head. "You confuse her with other Slavs, namely Bulgarians, who came into existence as a result of mixing with the local folk."

"Then who is she?" said Belarus a little irritated. "I barely found anything. Also, for a nation that had little interaction with the sea, she has a lot of, rather old, songs connected with it. And her culture is very similar to the one near Baikal Lake."

I can not help you with that." answered Greece apologetically. "I believe that Serbia did not have an official state and its capital, but the national consciousness was developed. It is a pity that I, her oldest ally on the Balkans, still do not know much."

Serbia was sure that her boss would yell at her for spending money on the plane ticket when she was also caught in the economical crisis. _It's not like I care_, she thought, _After all, what can he do?_ She slumped in her seat. In less than two hours, she will be enjoying the beaches with Greece and a cup of coffee.


	3. Chapter 3

WARNING: Belarus/Serbia

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia or Belarus' president. Only my OC Serbia who in this story was portrayed as a cold and maybe sadistic person. Also, I took liberty in shaping Serbia's past before she came to the Balkans. The reason for this is that there are unclear evidence of "White Serbia's" existence before sixth and seventh century, and the trace of the name "Serboi" around Carpathian Mountains. There is also a theory that "Siberia" has some connection to the current nation's name. There are many 'truths' about the true origin of the Serbs, so I took liberty to create my own version of it all.

NOTE: Chapters are short like this because the person I'm writting for can't keep up with the story if it's long.

* * *

Unlike Serbia's, Greece's house was not in his capital. It was on one of the many islands south of Athens with small population and a few stores. Every week a boat with supplies docked in the old port made purely out of stone. The beach was tiny and certainly not for any kind of tourism. In the north for about kilometre and a half lay a village, also looking as old as the port.

Heracles' house itself was on the other side of the island, to the south, therefore Vukica had to pass through the village in order to get to her friend. However, she had a bad habit of drinking in a local bar when she was upset.

"Ya nevah learn, do ya?" said a rather tall and fat seventeen year old. He, like many others, was a thing called "the result". I Vukca's case, he was the result of too many drinks and bar fights. "I told ya to stay outta our island, but ya keep comin." The large prick in his hand could be described as "shit", and the group of four men behind him as "deep shit".

"Petar." said Serbia simply. For her, he was just another nuisance, thus she regarded him with indifference while his 'friends surrounded her. "Well, we'll just knock some sense into ya, then." said Petar as he brought his prick down on Vukica who did not even bother to move.

Countries were, by the rule, stronger than normal humans. After nineties, Serbia became an exception. She could no longer heal as fast as the other nations, and she regularly got ill even though her economy was stable. She was neither human nor a country. Only Greece knew this fact, and did everything in his power to help his friend. Vukica smiled as immense pain shot through her left shoulder where the prick connected with it. She could not help it, the irony was too great. Then Petar fell to the ground.

In the end, Heracles had to throw away coffee the stoic woman refused, albeit kindly. He offered her to stay for the night, as the sun was already setting down. To his relief, she did not refuse it like coffee, and he made himself a mental note that it was probably because it was not spiked. She was Russia's sister after all. He also suggested that she take a tour while the sun was up; she said that she would think about it.

* * *

Now Belarus was walking along the narrow shore towards the village. After hot July day like this, the cool breeze and the dropping temperature were both were welcome. _Brother would enjoy being here. I guess that in some way he is._ She thought of all the Russian tourists, usually very old or very young, playing on the beaches with bright smiles on their faces. Russia rarely smiled from his heart, but when he did, it was sweet like honey. His eyes would soften and half close. For a moment he would look like the gentle little boy she once knew. It was rare, preserved for special occasions and people. Unlike Serbia, he did not use it easily like it was something expendable. Though both had round faces, their eyes were different. While there was a spark of life in Russia's eyes, Serbia's were distant. They did not resemble bright violet fire for they were dark, dead, pulling and suffocating everything in their blackness. They always looked through you, as if seeing something beyond reach.

Snapping herself out of her thoughts, Belarus decided to go into village to buy a few drinks. She was nearing a rather modest shop, when she noticed a group of people in front of it. She decided to ignore them when…

"Petar." Nataliya abruptly stopped when hearing the familiar voice. Her eyes widened when four men surrounded Serbia, but she was not worried. No petty human could hurt a country. Vukica herself looked calm as she regarded Petar coolly.

"Well, we'll just have to beat some sense into ya." The moment the prick was raised above unmoving female, Belarus' instincts screamed that something was wrong. Her body moved with stunning speed while she took out one of the small knifes from her sleeve. By the time the sound of cracking bones was heard, she was already behind Petar knocking him down. When she turned to face the woman now kneeling in front of her, she felt disgusted. Serbia was smiling pathetically while looking at the ground. Irritated, she roughly took Vukica by her right arm and pulled her up.

"Ya bitch!" shouted Petar while getting to his feet. "Beat the shit outta them!" he ordered the other four stunned men. _I cannot kill them. They are Karpusi's people_. Thought Belarus as she took a defensive stance.

The first man attacked her from the front with his fists. Belarus ducked his right one and kicked him with her leg in his guts. Then she just put her elbow in the way of his falling chin. He crumbled onto the ground unconscious.

The second and third came from both sides, each holding a weapon of a sort but Natalia paid no heed to it. If she took out the leader, the other would retreat, thus she bolted right to Petar who was wearing a rather stupid expression on his face. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut of with a feeling of a cold blade against his throat.

"Alright, stop!" said he. "I'm just making sure that the trouble makers like her", he pointed at Vukica, "stop causing ruckus! I never kill them. There's no need for this… right?" Belarus removed the blade from his throat while muttering 'get lost' and the men disappeared unwillingly into the night. She then turned to Serbia who was standing bored with her left shoulder bleeding while her hand dangled uselessly at her side.

"Why did you not fight back?" asked Natalia while starting to inspect the wound. "Your shoulder's broken, however, since you're a nation, it will take about fide days to heal, so you…"

"And who the hell are you?" Serbia butted in.

"I'm Belarus."

"White Russia?" Vukica's brows knitted together. "No, wait, you were that silent woman who was sitting beside Russia at the Balkan's meeting. You're his sister or something like that… Are you not?" Belarus nodded her head.

"The prove it." Natalia's face lost it's composure and for a second allowed confusion to overtake it. If Serbia remembered her from the meeting, why was she asking her to prove that it was her? Besides, Belarus did not have anything to prove who she was. "I do not need to prove anything." She finally said. "Now let's get you to the hospital."

"No." Vukica said sternly. "They would not treat me, and I do not want to go to the main land at this hour." She was absolutely ignoring the knife in others' hand. "And I'm definitely not going to Greece's."

"Why!"

"Look, he can be worse than a possessive brother with sister complex when he starts worrying about me." Belarus could only blink stupidly at Vukica's sentence. "Just leave me, okay?"

And then Serbia smiled a smile that should belong to Russia only. Belarus hit her with the dull part of the blade in the head knocking her unconscious.

_

* * *

She did not feel her body hit the ground as she clutched the place where her right eye should have been. Later, they told her that she was screaming whole two hours. It was 1915. and even though Serbian forces won over the Austrian-Hungarian ones, the price was terrible. Soon, Bulgaria would attack her from the east, breaking her left arm, and an entire nation would leave it's own soil and go into an exile across the Albanian mountains at the beginning of winter._

"_Excuse me…" said king Peter, sitting beside an isolated fireplace somewhere in the forest of Prokletije mountains. "but I can not but doubt that we, you children, won't survive." He looked at her. Vukica's right side of the head was bandaged as was her right arm. Her right leg was almost frozen due to many of her people not having anything suitable to wear in this harsh weather. "Here."_

_He looked her in the eyes, waiting for an answer. Serbia's fate would be decided in her next sentence. If her leaders had no faith or hope, how could they lead their people out of the dark? She raised her head and looked at her king._

"_Dum Spiro, Spero."_


End file.
